An Aesthetic shows you to a small reading room.

Stories of Ansalon from the view of Raeton.

A little gully dwarf runs by and says 'Wordwrap is at 65. You change? Off 65 80.'
The gully continues 'Eyes hurt? Turn Color OFF!! (regular story dates)

Astinus says 'Enter the main library here to view only the author list.'
Astinus gently places a massive tome bound in dragonskin on the table in front of you.
You note the spine bears the word 'Raeton' scribed in burnt red ink.

Author:    Raeton         
Date:      Mon Sep  3
22:45:03 2007
Subject     Raeton

Born to Bakurna Lazil
and his wife Eryna, Raeton was a child destined to
follow in his
father's footsteps from birth.  A Lord Knight of the
Solamnic
Order of the Crown, Bakurna simply knew from the very
first breath that his
young son would follow him into the
hallowed order to serve as a Knight.  It
was said the young boy
was practically born with a blade in his hand. 
However fate was
never one to allow things to be so simple, and while the
child
was raised to fight and was well trained, his destiny tracked
down
another path.  Raised from a young age to follow the ways of
the Gods of the
Triumvarate; Paladine, Kiri-Jolith, and Habbakuk;
Raeton learned honor above
all else.  He knew the sacred ways of
the Gods of Light, yet their truth
would soon become spoiled in
his eyes.  Honor was lauded above all else,
even it seemed as the
boy grew, over common sense.  The tactics he learned
trained him
well, but in several situations, Raeton was held back
from
finishing or starting an engagement in a way that could well
have ended his
life in a true battle.  Even as a teen he began to
see these flaws.  One day
Raeton and his father were out in the
training yards, when during the fight,
Bakurna yielded to his
son, and the teen, rather than allowing mercy and
allowing his
opponent an advantage, made the killing move, stopping short
as
he was expected.  Bakurna fell back, looking at his son half
outraged, half
stunned.  'What are you doing boy?  ' Raeton
shrugged as he sheathed his
training blade.  'What's to stop you
from gutting me when I lower my blade? 
It's a fine goal to show
mercy, but if these enemies are as evil as you say,
how am I to
trust in their honor?  ' He stared hard at his father, his
gaze
not breaking away from his elders.  'My son, there are
things you must
understand in this world.  Without honor what
better are we than our
enemies?  ' Again the boy shrugged.  'But
what good is your honor if all it
gets me is a knife in the back.
 I've seen out in the streets how people
truly fight.  Swords and
shields and honorable combat is all well and good,
but if you
ever see a true fight all that is going to do is get you killed.

' Bakurna looked at his son sadly.  'Son, if we hold true to the
Oath and
the Measure, the Gods will protect us.  Faith and Honor
will save us.  ' The
boy shook his head vehemently.  'You just
don't understand!  Your ideals may
be good but in the real world
they serve only to hinder.  Serving the
general good is
admirable, but you gain the world if you die simply to
show
honor!  ' Turning on his heel he stomped off and out of the
training yard. 
That same night, Raeton decided that it was time
to leave this place and
find his own way in the world.  He wanted
to do what he could to help the
world, but the stodgy ways of the
Solamnic Order would serve only to hold
him back.  So, with tears
in his eyes and a prayer to the wind, he sped out
of his family's
manor and into the wilderness.  After riding what seemed
like
forever, the young man ended up in Solanthus.  Cold, wet, and
hungry as
a horse, he wandered desolately through the streets
looking to find what he
could, until exhaustion finally took over
him.  When he awoke he found
himself in a small home, with a
figure huddled in front of the fire, seeming
to be working
something within the fireplace.  Raeton stirred awake
quickly,
felt for his sword, and cursed softly when he realized
he was unarmed.  The
figure turned and revealed itself as an old
man holding out a bowl of warm
soup and a spoon to him with a
smile.  'My name is Khalain.  I found you in
one of the streets,
passed out and looking dead.  Your horse is stabled
outside my
home, with feed to keep him.  Go ahead and eat, you look as
if
you could use it, and it will warm your bones besides.  ' He
again smiled
his grandfatherly smile and turned back to the fire.
 Grabbing a bowl for
himself, he pulled a chair up near Raeton
and sat down.  'So what's your
name son?  ' Raeton, not bothering
with the spoon tilted back the bowl and
took a long drink of warm
soup.  'My name is Raeton....  I'm from Palanthas.
I left there
because me and my father didn't exactly see eye to eye on
our
views of the world...  ' He trailed off staring into his bowl
of soup, as if
it would show him some sort of sign.  'From the
looks of your gear, you're
the son of nobility if nothing else. 
You're lucky I found you, instead of
what could have happened. 
Your things are in the corner, clothes should be
dry by now. 
Your blade is with your things, I didn't want you to wake in
a
panic and stick me with that thing.  ' Khalain chuckled.  'From
the looks of
your weapon, either daddy bought you a nice little
toy, or you know your way
with a sword.  ' Raeton cast his glance
to his things.  Everything seemed to
be in place, but he was
still somewhat wary.  'I do know how to handle
myself in
battle....  That's part of the reason I'm here.  ' He
sighed
heavily.  'My father was a Knight of Solamnia.  A brave
man, and honorable,
but the Solamnic Order is too stuck upon
politics and their code to realize
that it's eating away at
them...  ' Khalain smiled with a laugh.  'Good men
the Knighthood
has, but you're right.  Honor is perfectly admirable in a
man,
but most men who try to fight a real fight like they do end up
with a
knife between their shoulder blades.  ' Raeton sat up
further, with an
inquisitive look at the older man.  'You sound
like one with some firsthand
experience.  ' The old man chuckled
again.  'That I do.  I am a mercenary of
sorts.  Not an ordinary
sell-sword who will fight for the highest bidder,
but a
professional soldier.  I never sold myself out like some,
merely
picked and chose my battles.  I never fought for money or
power, simply
fought when I thought the situation was worthy.  '
The old man smiled
fondly.  'Kiri-Jolith has guided my hand well
in battle so far, and I've
never been shamed for my tactics.  You
know I could use one like you at my
side, to take my place when
my time on this world grows short.  ' Raeton sat
silently for a
few moments, then spoke.  'Teach me.  ' 

The Storytellers of Ansalon, The DragonLance MUD

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